


elegy

by lilabut



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Mentions of Cancer, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob knows he will lose her. In some way he will always lose her. That is the consequence of his choice. But can it be worth it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	elegy

**Elegy**

[ ](http://sarahtomas.livejournal.com/)

_“you cannot protect me from everything. at some point something is going to separate us. it will be an accident, an illness… old age. as long as I'm human.”_

 

**zero**

_some things are just never meant to be / no matter ho hard we wish they were_

sunday, september 10th 2006

 

“Bella! Bella, please! Don't do this to me!”

 

The room is dead silent except for Edward’s desperate pleas, his voice dripping with agony, marble fingers coated in a film of crimson and clinging onto a lifeless, bled-out, silent body beneath him.

 

Bella.

 

Her eyes open, empty, focused on nothing, a fine line of blood running from her lips across her jaw and dripping slowly onto her hair which is spilled beneath her head like a wreath.

 

Dead. No heartbeat. No breathing. _Nothing_.

 

Jacob stumbles back towards the door slowly, his eyes fixed on Bella's – he does not want to see it, knows that the picture will be burned into his memory for every single day he would be doomed to outlive his _Bells_. Yet, he keeps his eyes focused on those empty pools of chocolate.

 

He shivers, trembles, fights the urge to cry, to rip apart and to run. To get away from this scene, from Edward who is still fighting for her life – for anything, any sign that she would return, no matter as what it would be.

 

But it is too late. There is no second chance this time. No way to take it back. She is dead. She would never return. Would never smile again. Would never be _warm_ again.

 

For the first time Jacob feels some kind of pity for Edward although his antipathy for him is more severe now than ever before. He blames him for what he sees in this very moment. For everything that Bella had to go through although she never deserved it.

 

But hearing his pain-filled voice, full of self-hate, Jacob pities Edward because, now that everything he fought for is over, he finally understands his rival.

 

_He_ never wanted this, either. Just as much as Jacob. They have that much in common.

 

As Jacob feels the door frame against his shoulder, he stops his slow, deliberate steps and closes his eyes from the violent, bloody images threatening to knock the air out of him. And inside of him he lets the rage take over.

 

Blistering heat burns in his veins, he hates and blames himself. Not for being incapable of stopping this – it had been _her_ choice, he had tried to stop her. Make her see the light but he knew he had blamed himself for her faith too much already – but for being too weak to let her go. For ever coming back to check on Bella, for lingering, for giving in.

 

Now he thinks – wishes – he had been strong enough to stay away. Then his last memory of his _Bells_ would have been that of a perfectly beautiful, nervous but downright happy bride, although not his, instead of being this image of the love of his life dying, writhing in excruciating agony, bleeding out, breaking when all she truly deserved was to die as a content old woman – all in front of his eyes and all for a lost cause.

 

Jacob understands now that he would never have had Bella, but he could have had a peaceful memory of her. That, however, is lost now, burned into ashes by the end Bella’s life eventually had to take.

 

Not daring to take another look, Jacob turns around with his eyes closed and he only opens them when he is already halfway down the stairs. Only now that Edward's pleas and cries are fading, he hears voices downstairs. _Happy_ voices.

 

But before his anger can overcome him he stops dead in his tracks. Rosalie is sitting on the couch, a wide, open-mouthed smile enlightening her beautiful face as she gently lifts up in her arms what just murdered _Bells_.

 

Tiny, pale, copper curls framing the most beautiful face Jacob has ever seen and suddenly he feels like there is nothing in the world worth looking at after this, that gazing at the baby in Rosalie's arms would be enough to heal all the pain he felt - to heal him.

 

It is as if there is nothing more important, as if the Earth suddenly changes course.

 

Before it is over, Jacob understands. And in that very second he bursts apart, exploding, one of his paws crushing an armchair by his side. It is the same second that Edward's agonizing scream fills the silence of the house, that Rosalie becomes a colorful blur that reappears in the far corner of the room, clutching the tiny bundle against her dead chest.

 

It is the second Jacob's world shifts and at the same time… shatters.

 

And he runs. Runs as far as his unwilling legs carry him, ignoring the merciless pull back, runs farther - away, _away_ …

 

It is the second time he does this - but this time the old Jacob Black really stays in the house he just left, stays with the dead body of the girl he once loved and an imprint that was never meant to happen, that he feels blazing hatred and unconditional love for, stays with a family that would have welcomed him, his enemies that would have loved him like one of their own, stays with his pack, with his friends, with his family.

 

But _he_ runs.

 

 

Many years later, Seth tells his son a story of a man who had suffered so much in life, who had never been given what he deserved, who fought and yet was always defeated.

 

The little boy's eyes are widened in shock after being confronted with such a fate, it being so unlike the fairy tales and stories his mother would always tell him.

 

And so Seth tells his son that the man transformed into a wolf and ran away from everything and that he was not seen again for many long years before he returned and found peace and happiness. _Happily ever after_.

 

As his son smiles, Seth stares out of the window into the nearby forest, after all these years still hoping that a russet-colored wolf would just step out of the trees, would transform into his old friend and smile at him the way he once used to.

 

But he knows that what he told his son is nothing but a lie. That the wolf would never return… would never find peace and happiness.

 

That _happily ever after_ is not a part of his story.

 

 

**one.**

_trying to forget someone you love / is like trying to remember someone you never met_

sunday, november 21st 2006

 

There is no place to escape from his thoughts, from the ruthless pain that washes over him every time his mind pulls Jacob on _that_ path – into the past, into agony and blame.

 

It does not matter how far away Jacob is running, how hard he tries to forget – in the end it all comes back crushing him to the ground, stilling his furious movements, breaking him into pieces all over again.

 

He has lost track of time, his sense of orientation. It is just him out there in the wild now, running not until his paws cannot bear it anymore but until his mind shoots him in the most vulnerable of all places.

 

But one day, Jacob Black is back. _Home_. There had been no conscious decision to return. He had only been running and somehow he had found the way back home.

 

To Jacob, it feels as if only a few days have passed but the cold wind and the first Christmas decoration peeking out from the windows tells him that he had been running for way too long, running away, leaving himself behind – leaving _everyone_ behind.

 

Various feelings overcome him as he slowly walks down the familiar streets, his feet once again leading him instead of his mind. He had always been better with his body than with his head, his physical acts always meaning so much more than any decision made merely in his head.

 

He feels guilt and blame because he had left behind his family for so long. Only a hint of delight to be _back_.

 

Yet, most of all Jacob feels sadness. There is no doubt that his one and only fight is now lost.

 

_Forever_. Literally.

 

She would be one of them by now. His _Bells_ lost, only alive in his memories now.

 

Instead of a clumsy, bitter, shy and inconspicuous girl there would now be a graceful, strong, beautiful and lethal woman, frozen in time.

 

 

As he turns the corner he had walked so many times in his young life Jacob stops, the weight of his guilt threatening to become entirely too much when he lays his eyes upon the tiny red house. _Home_.

 

But it does not feel the same anymore. Knowing the red truck would never pull up in the driveway again, that motorcycles and cars and warm sodas would never cause that warm, fuzzy feeling inside of him, that his once so beloved First Beach would always only carry bad memories from now on. All reminders of his loss.

 

Jacob wants to just take a few more steps, knock at the door and hug his father, letting him know that he is _fine_ , that there is no need to worry anymore. He wants to, badly.

 

But the blame, the instincts are stronger and before he knows it, he is back behind the trees, his clothes ripping apart as he bursts and lands on his paws with a loud _thud_.

 

He seeks the silence, the quietness, the hint of peace which makes this existence so preferable over a human life. But now, he finds neither of those.

 

The second he materializes his inner struggle, he can hear them again, his brothers.

 

Over the last months, he had been too far away to hear them, to let them penetrate his thoughts and when he got closer, they had been quiet, gone – at peace themselves. All seemed so different now.

 

But the second they are back in his head, Jacob bursts apart. He does so mentally now because in the physical way he has already done it.

 

They try hard to conceal it, to cover up what had happened during the months Jacob had been absent. But that had always been the very worst part of being what they were. The incapability to have any secrets, to keep anything hidden. Having to let their lives become an open book, one with a pen next to it so everybody else had the possibility to write in it, to scratch and scribble however they pleased.

 

He can see everything in their heads as clear as if it was happening in this very second right in front of his eyes.

 

 

She is here. On First Beach. Beautiful. Like a mirage in the absent heat against the violently rushing ocean, standing as strong as the rocks, immobile, gracefully. Giving the scenery a fleeting touch of utter perfection.

 

But sadness. There was nothing but sadness and bitterness in her eyes, red as blood.

 

 

They are chasing her through the damp forest like the speed of sound, their bodies only blurs of color against the evergreen trees.

 

She had broken the treaty and there are no exceptions to that rule – although this _is_ different. Jacob can feel all of their pain as sharp as a razor blade as they tear her apart, piece by piece.

 

There is no resistance from her. She has accepted it. Maybe she even came _for_ this. Maybe it had been her choice.

 

That would explain why in the following weeks nobody came to avenge her. They had been expecting that.

 

But it never happened.

 

 

It tears Jacob apart – the sound of glass breaking, of marble cracking, of stone shattering as his brothers tear apart what the girl he loved had become. As her ashes burn. He can smell the disgustingly sweet scent lingering in the air. The smoke… rising into the sky like northern lights, bizarrely shaped, of an otherworldly color.

 

 

They try to call him back, try to form unwilling apologies but Jacob just runs away from their thoughts, although they do not cede – runs to the place he can see so clearly in their heads.

 

Only when he arrives does he recognize it. The cliff. _Their_ cliff. That god-forsaken cliff.

 

He can almost hear Bella's distant scream as she jumped, can too vividly recall the vicious circle of white foam in the furious ocean where she had disappeared that day. Can still feel the breathtaking fear as he had pulled her out of the waters, lifeless and spent.

 

There is a small black circle on the rocky ground, remains of a fire that had burned weeks ago. The last reminder. But time would slowly erase that faint debris of his life, as well.

 

Her ashes must be spread over the entire ocean by now and somehow, apart from all the agony he feels, that thought comforts Jacob and makes him feel oddly grateful that his brothers had picked this place to… slay the love of his life.

 

When his paws slowly transform back into bare feet and silence fills his head, Jacob kneels next to the remains of ashes and some dead pieces of wood, his hands hovering over the place as if it was scared, an altar – a connection to something higher than any answers he could get here on earth.

 

His fingers are strangely calm as he picks up something stuck between two branches, something silver, bluntly reflecting the dull light given by the cloud-covered sky.

 

Her bracelet. His bracelet. _Their_ bracelet.

 

No diamond heart - she must have either lost that or taken it down - no wolf – that must have burned into ashes along with his _Bells_ , along with all her memories and her past.

 

Just the cold silver remains.

 

It startles Jacob that nowhere in the remains he can find a ring – _that_ ring which should be here. Should have been with her that day and should have been resistant to the flames.

 

_Maybe the wind has carried it away_ … he thinks as he throws himself down the cliff into the raging ocean, knowing that the force will not do him any harm.

 

But expecting the impact, nonetheless.

 

 

**two.**

_everyone deserves a chance to fly_

monday, january 25th 2010

 

It looks almost magical. The thin, filigree cover of soft and light white power coating every surface - streets, driveways, lifeless suburban lawns, fences, roofs, swings in the playground, every gravel on the beach.

 

There is no distinction between the white foam on the ocean's surface, upset by the merciless wind, and the grayish-white, sparkling, snow-covered gravel.

 

As the sun stands high in the blue sky, illuminating the ground in a way that turns the snow into a blinding force, almost unbearable to look at, families escape the dullness of their homes and instead enjoy the peaceful winter day, clear skies and cold, fresh air.

 

Jacob is one of these people who spend this perfect day outside, however he has work to do – at least Bella has made him believe that fixing the blinds could not wait until a later day.

 

 

Short arms suddenly wrap themselves around his torso and he smiles as he feels Bella's cheek press into his warm back, her fingers interlacing themselves above his heart.

 

“Are you here to check on me?” he says with a smile, turning his head to see Bella staring up at him with a bright smile on her glowing face – the cold immediately turning her cheeks bright red.

 

“Maybe… and maybe I just missed you,” she whispers, pressing her lips between Jacob's shoulder blades before letting go of him to step aside a little, eying his work.

 

“Well, considering they look just as dysfunctional as they did before, I guess I _should_ be here to check on you. Were you watching all the young moms walking by or what?”

 

“Maybe… Or maybe I was thinking about you for so long that I forgot my task here.”

 

He winks at Bella before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him, softly pressing his lips against her forehead.

 

“I hope so. I wouldn't want you to elope with a pretty single mom the day before we get married,” Bella laughs, pulling herself closer to Jacob's warmth.

 

Jacob snorts at her imagination (not having taken notice of anyone walking by so far) and kisses her gently, his right hand playing with her long hair.

 

“Speaking of single moms,” Bella says as she finds the will to separate her lips from Jacob's, “I’m off to Port Angeles. Renée's flight should land in about an hour and I don't want to leave her waiting.”

 

“I wouldn't want my future mother-in-law to be mad at me right from the start because I distracted her daughter, would I?”

 

Bella slowly runs her hand over Jacob's neck, her fingers lingering at the sensitive skin behind his ear. She can feel him shiver as she brushes her finger over it and a rush of warmth and affection runs through her veins, making her smile.

 

“And how exactly are you planning to distract me?” she asks, unconsciously pressing herself closer to Jacob's body.

 

“I could think of a few ways to do so,” he mutters before tightening his grip on her and gently presses her against the wall next to their kitchen window, trapping her between the cold wooden panel and his warm body.

 

Bella's breathing picks up as he trails the tip of his nose along the exposed skin of her neck and he is grateful that she once again forgot her scarf.

 

“Jake…,” she whispers against the side of his head as his hands begin to wander beneath her coat.

 

“Hmm…,” he replies, the vibration of his lips causing a flood of goose bumps to erupt on Bella’s skin.

 

“I don't want to spend the night at Emily's.”

 

Jacob lifts his head so he can see the painful and longing expression in Bella's eyes, her tiny hands clinging to his arms.

 

“I'm afraid she'll kill you if you spend the night before our wedding with me, honey.”

 

Bella shivers as Jacob's fingers find the bare skin of her stomach and she groans in frustration.

 

“Who cares about all these traditions? And why is everybody more excited about this than we are?”

 

“So, you're not excited?” Jacob asks, retreating his hands and putting on a very fake pouting face.

 

“Of course I am,” Bella mutters against his lips before kissing him softly. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Jacob whispers and drops a gentle, feather-light kiss on Bella's earlobe before letting her go, fighting his unwillingness to do so.

 

“I'll be back for lunch,” Bella calls over her shoulder as she paces through their front-yard towards her red truck which she refuses to give away.

 

As the motor roars to life she turns down the window and waves in Jacob's direction before disappearing down the snow-covered road.

 

 

Jacob does not start to worry until he hears Charlie's voice…

 

He does not start to worry when he has lunch ready and there is no sight of a red truck. He does not start to worry when he decides that Bella would not want him to wait for her and he eats his tepid pasta. He does not worry when he is finished with dinner, cleans his plate, puts Bella's portion into the fridge and cleans the kitchen.

 

Maybe it's just bad traffic. That is what he keeps thinking. Maybe they stopped at Charlie's. Maybe…

 

Jacob does not worry but when three hours have passed since Bella was supposed to be back he starts to become edgy, pacing through the house, takes his suit for tomorrow out of the closet, resisting the temptation to open the white bag that holds Bella's dress, puts on the jacket – just to see – and cleans the mirror in the bathroom.

 

When the telephone rings he expects it to be Bella. Bella complaining about being stuck in a traffic jam, Bella whining about Renee's flight being delayed because of all the snow, Bella excusing for being stuck at Charlie's for tea, Bella…

 

But when he picks up the phone and hears Charlie's voice on the other end he knows. He fears.

 

 

All that is left for Jacob to do is identify her. Charlie cannot bear it. When they pull the blanket away from her face he _knows_ that it is Bella. But he cannot find his _Bells_ in her anymore.

 

He does not dare to look at her body for longer than necessary, cannot bring himself to touch her. All that he wants to do is leave.

 

Only he does not know where to go.

 

 

When he comes home late that night, darkness welcoming him instead of a warm smile and warm kisses, Jacob makes determined steps into the bedroom, undressing on his way, his clothes leaving a trail behind him.

 

He slowly puts on his suit, careful not to rip off a button again like he had yesterday, much to Emily's dislike.

 

Looking into the mirror he sees himself standing proud – but broken. And he wonders how he might have looked like tomorrow standing in the small chapel, anxious and full of excitement.

 

Definitely not as empty and hollow as he does now.

 

With trembling fingers he takes out the white bag and places it on the bed. His heartbeat drums bluntly behind his red, blood-shot eyes and it takes him a few minutes, maybe hours or weeks or months or maybe a decade, before his shivering fingers manage to pull down the zipper and to reveal something he is not supposed to see in this moment, at this time.

 

He had promised Bella not to look at the dress, even in the eye of the temptation that it has been in their closet for almost two months now.

 

But there is no use in keeping that promise now.

 

It is light, so light Jacob almost cannot feel the soft silk in his hands, and it is beautiful.

 

As he feels the embroidery beneath his fingertips it all suddenly becomes real.

 

Like a force of nature.

 

Tears slowly drop onto the white dress and they do not cede as realization crushes Jacob that Bella would never wears this dress, would never get a chance to punch and scratch him for staining it with his salty tears.

 

 

Renée finds Jacob the next day, deep asleep, curled together like a fetus on the bed, clinging to the white dress as if it were Bella, as if it held the power to bring her back to him.

 

Silent tears trail down Renee's cheeks as she places her daughter's engagement ring that the police had given her on the bedside table and steps back outside into the cold wind, the sky still as flawlessly blue as it had been yesterday.

 

She does not see that, though.

 

 

**three.**

_i can’t hold on / this time_

sunday, april 4th 2023

 

He tries to remember.

 

So many things that have slipped from his mind, from his memory – whether intentional or just an accompaniment of time passing. To Jacob, it is irrelevant _how_ they disappeared or _why_ he cannot remember.

 

Instead of questioning himself with _why'_ s and _how'_ s he only desperately tries to get the memories back.

 

They cannot be lost, cannot be forgotten.

 

 

There are no memories left from the day Bella came home from her doctor's appointment bringing the news that would shatter their world from that second on.

 

Jacob knows that her face had been plain, that her fingers had been trembling (too alike him when he found no comfort for his anger). Maybe she had even shed a tear that sunny afternoon when he had held her as close as possible, felt her shaking in his arms from fear and despair.

 

Jacob knows the words she had spoken, knows that the next morning he had found her sleeping in their son's bed, curled around his sleeping form like a glove.

 

He _knows_. But he does not _remember_.

 

 

There are no more memories from that one night he woke up to the sound of Bella's sobbing next to him. Tears prickling in his own eyes at the sight of her shaking, languid body he had enveloped her in his arms, hushed comforting murmurs into her ear, nudged her neck with the tip of his nose, inhaling her scent – alienated from all the medicine and disinfectants and hospital visits.

 

Jacob knows that her pale, emaciated fingers had grabbed strands of stray brown hair, holding on to them brokenhearted.

 

He had carried her into the bathroom that night, her tiny hands clinging to his neck as if suddenly, after all these years, she was afraid he might drop her, might not have the strength to hold her anymore.

 

Bella had her eyes closed, could not watch, could not see, could not look. Not for one second.

 

The sound of the scissor, sparkling in the dim light of the bathroom lamp, cutting through Bella's soft brown curls had been violent to Jacob's ears, tears gathering in his eyes as he watched strand for strand fall onto the while floor tiles.

 

Jacob knows that when he had shaved Bella's head everything suddenly became real, that the truth and seriousness of what was happening came crushing down on him. He knows that Bella had refused to look at herself, had not dared to touch the smooth skin which had rested beneath the cover of her hair all these years.

 

Jacob knows that when she had finally fallen asleep again in the early hours of the morning, pressed against his side, breathing in and out evenly, he had kissed the top of her bare head and had cried, silently and calmly, not wanting to wake her up again.

 

In this very moment he had felt nothing but fear.

 

He _knows_ all that. But he does not _remember_.

 

 

Jacob knows that Bella, his _Bells_ who never wore any color, had suddenly started to wrap her head in bright yellows, and pinks, reds and greens, confusing patterns, circles, dots, checks and swirls. Almost every day there had been a new cover on her head, although never really reaching her eyes. There simply was no cover for the fear sparkling in them.

 

He _knows_. But he does not _remember_.

 

 

Jacob also knows how fragile she had become all of a sudden, how every touch would sometimes hurt her, that she cried for hours because she could not lift their daughter anymore, because every bump against a door frame or an open cabinet door would result in a bruise the size of her hand, how some days she had no strength to even get out of bed.

 

He _knows_. But he does not _remember_.

 

 

Finally, Jacob cannot even remember that Sunday in April, the year's first real rays of sunlight breaking through the heavy blanket of clouds, when Bella had fallen asleep in his arms with a faint smile on her lips, the hospital's window wide open, a cool breeze tickling their skin.

 

Jacob only knows that he had kissed the tip of her nose before the nurses had taken her away from him. Forever.

 

He _knows_. But he does not _remember_.

 

 

As he kneels next to his daughter's bed, his fingers gently combing through her black hair, his feet numb from the lack of blood reaching them in his position and his eyes fixed on the too-big bracelet around his daughter's fragile wrist, the wooden wolf resting in her pale palm, he tries to remember.

 

And he does.

 

 

Jacob remembers how Bella had suddenly been able to smile at everything during her last months, how she had finally been able to climb out of the hole, a part of her had been caught in for so many years. How honest her every laugh and every smile had been.

 

 

Gently he brushes his lips against his daughter's forehead and lifts himself from the ground, the blood rushing back into his feet and he smiles as he slips into his own bed for the first time since that Sunday in April.

 

Tonight he would not fall asleep with his head on his daughter's bed, not crouched into his son's school bus-shaped armchair, not on the couch with the TV running all night long.

 

His hand cautiously glides over the empty side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the bedside table where Bella's copy of _Wuthering Heights_ still rests next to the yellow lamp she had brought from her childhood room, the picture of Brad Pitt on the bookmark which peaks out between the pages grinning in the dim yellowish light.

 

They had had many arguments over both the bookmark with a young Brad Pitt looking like a bath attendant on lunch break and the yellow lamp draped with dozens of bright jewels – neither of them a pleasure for Jacob’s eyes.

 

Now they make him smile.

 

 

Because he _remembers_ those arguments, Bella's pouting lips, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her chin lifted high so she would at least _feel_ taller and maybe on the same level with him.

 

Maybe it was time to let go. To follow Bella's example. To finally start living even – or especially – in the eye of loss.

 

 

**four.**

_happiness is only real / when shared_

thursday, june 15th 2073

 

“Dad?”

 

The woman’s voice echoes through the small house, bouncing off the walls and circling in the air like a swirl of thin air.

 

She looks as fragile as a porcelain doll, short, thin, black hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, a single strand falling into her face which only increases the temptation of her old habit to run her fingers over her skin and gently trail her hair back behind her ear. Her skin is a soft caramel, the kind of skin that always looks tanned but never exaggerated and her chocolate colored eyes shine with an alien expression of sadness and anxiousness.

 

The hem of her soft light blue summer dress gently kisses the skin of her knobbly knees, a fine scar standing out almost white against her dark skin on her left knee – the result of a collision with a rock when she had been seven years old.

 

“Dad?” she calls again, quieter this time, hesitating as she pushes open the door to a room she had not often seen from the inside when she had still lived in this house.

 

“Dad?”

 

The tall man standing at the opened window turns around slowly as he hears his daughter's voice, his long gray hair pulled back just like her's, his russet skin wrinkled and marked from a long life, from countless memories.

 

“We should get going. Ben is already at the beach and Annie should be here any minute. She picked up Dave and kids from the airport,” she says calmly, carefully watching her father's reaction. He smiles at the mention of his grandchildren's names, still having that hint of disbelieve in his eyes when facing the fact that his own granddaughter is already a mother and he nods slowly, his eyes drifting back to the far ocean visible from the bedroom window.

 

“I'll be with you in a minute. And Sarah?” he calls gently, turning around to look back at his daughter, already half turned around in the hallway.

 

He takes something out of his pocket and steps towards his daughter, taking her hand in his, his own so big that her's is simply swallowed. It is their unique gesture of comfort and trust – ever since Sarah can remember her father holding her hands had soothed her from the inside out.

 

The cold bracelet that drops into Sarah's palm as her father lets go of her hand shines in the rays of sunlight streaming through the open window and she can feel tears prickling in her eyes, fighting them because she has cried too many times during the last days.

 

“Dad…”

 

“Your mother wanted you to have it,” Jacob whispers reassuringly, dropping a butterfly kiss on his daughter's forehead.

 

Sarah smiles weakly and nods before leaving her parents bedroom, leaving her father alone.

 

Jacob steps back to the window, treasuring the soft touch of wind tickling his skin, the rush of the ocean like a well-known lullaby.

 

He feels warm in this room – in no way related to the temperature. In fact, Jacob cannot remember the last time he actually felt _cold_ in that way.

 

No…. Being in this room makes him feel fuzzy and comfortable. _Safe_. As if this is a glimpse of the perfect happy world everybody longs for – yet does not exist.

 

There are so many memories connected to this room. Jacob very clearly remembers the day they had moved into this house almost seven decades ago and how they had not even made it to the bed that night. He can still hear Bella's faint whisper in his ear the way she had told him she was pregnant three times, remembers how he used to hold her, talk to their children in her rounded stomach, feel them move, how he would bring her breakfast in the morning, wake her in the middle of the night with kisses trailing down her throat, sometimes put flowers next to her pillow when he had to leave for work early, watch her change her clothes, watch her grow older.

 

Watch her leave...

 

 

As Sarah walks through the hallway, clinging to the bracelet like she had so often done to her childrens' hand when they walked through crowded places, her eyes wandered over the many photographs covering the walls, the many faces smiling at her.

 

Her own face, once a tiny baby, once at graduation, once at her own wedding, many at the beach, some with her sister and her brother, her favorite of her and her grandfathers. Billy and Charlie hugging her like two bears, one of her with her mother on the beach at sunset, one of her with her husband and her children, her own children growing older, her daughter smiling like the sun in her wedding dress, her husband wrapping his arms around her baby bump, the entire family – her entire life kept safe on these walls.

 

Sarah stops at the picture of her parent’s wedding, one she had been fascinated about since she was a little girl.

 

It is the ease and the contentment in her mother’s eyes that had been catching Sarah's attention all these years. Never in her life has Sarah seen those two simple emotions in her mother as clear as on this one picture.

 

There was always something clouding her mother's happiness and given she was her child, Sarah felt that. Felt that there was this air around her mother, mysterious and sheltered from the outside world. A kind of weary bitterness.

 

Sarah remembers her mother's smile, her joy in living, the contagious sound of her laugh, the way it made her feel proud to be her daughter.

 

Without her here, the house feels different. There is no mother to open the door with a heartwarming, welcoming smile; the kiss on the tip of Sarah's nose, the smell of her perfume; a cup of warm chocolate milk; fresh, bright flowers on every surface – the smell of them mixed with Bella’s perfume, the earthy scent of her pottery, motor oil, grease and spaghetti creating the unique scent that is _home_.

 

She is missing and, with her, everything else.

 

 

As Jacob walks down First Bach with bare feet, he can almost feel his _Bells_ clinging to his arm the way she had always done, can see her wrinkled face smile up at him, still as beautiful as in their younger days, every wrinkle around her eyes a treasure for him, a prove that she was alive and her heart was beating and she was with him.

 

She is with him. Still.

 

And Jacob can feel in his heart that he will soon be with her again. There is nothing left to do. No more memories to make.

 

He had not felt sadness the day she had passed from him, had fallen asleep in his arms content and happy. After all, this had been the consequence of the wish he had had for so long, of the fight he had almost lost. All those many years ago.

 

More than anything, he had wanted Bella to live a normal, human life – and that death was the ultimate consequence did not come as a surprise. Bella had lived her life to the fullest and they had years of memories to cherish – Jacob saw no reason to be sad.

 

He is grateful.

 

 

Sarah eyes the shining bracelet around her wrist as she walks across the beach, adoring the familiar feeling of the soft sand between her toes, holding on to her brother's and her sister's hand to both of her sides.

 

As they spread her mother's ashes over the sea, she cannot bear to watch, to actually say _goodbye_. And so she just keeps staring at the two charms dangling from the filigree silver.

 

The wooden wolf she had always thought as a protector and a diamond heart, now reflecting the dim, orange sunlight painting the beach and the sea in all shades of warmth.

 

Ever since Sarah can remember, she had asked her mother where that beautiful, yet so unfitting heart came from. Bella's answer when Sarah had been a child had always been “ _The fairy tale prince gave it to me._ ” And as Sarah got older, her questions became more curious and eager – Bella would always return to that childhood fairytale. It was a very obvious lie.

 

Sarah could never overcome the feeling that there was a connection between this mysterious air of bitterness her mother had carried her entire life and this heart – this reminder of a past she had so rarely spoken of.

 

But whatever this story is no one wants to tell, Sarah feels relief now that she understands the concept of life. That there is no use in fearing death.

 

That her mother, apart from influences of the past that never let go of her, had been a very happy woman and had taught her children how to _live_.

 

And not to grief, although she herself always had done exactly that.

 


End file.
